


The Morning After

by GealachGirl



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Arguments, Drama, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Night Stand, Snow Storms, Some angst, Stranded Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 15:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18853438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GealachGirl/pseuds/GealachGirl
Summary: Brad and Ray finally slept together. Now they have to figure out what that means.





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> This ran away from me as far as emotions go, and I tried out writing characters having a fight. It's also the most explicit thing I've written in years, so that's fun. Let me know what you think?

****

Ray woke up warm and soft and sore.

The ache was in his back and his hips and his jaw, and he was so wrapped up in that, he didn’t register the unfamiliar mattress or comforter for a few moments.

When he did, the world stilled.

Carefully, he shifted, gritting his teeth against his protesting muscles, and saw Brad lying in the bed beside him. For a single, delirious moment, the only thing he could think was that he couldn’t believe he’d woken up before Brad.

And then he realized he needed to leave. Immediately. Before that changed.

Ray pushed himself up on his hands and swung his legs off the side of the bed, ignoring the way his hips protested. But then the mattress dipped behind him and Ray didn’t have to look to know that Brad had both woken and sat up. He closed his eyes and braced himself, hoping absently that it wouldn’t be too bad.

It was quiet for a long moment.

 

Brad watched Ray’s tense shoulders and back as his thoughts raced between last night and the present.

_He gasped against Ray’s mouth as he crawled into Brad’s lap, pulling at the hem of his shirt and dragging it up over his chest. His wide eyes were dark and gorgeous with his pupils blown wide and staring at him._ _Brad worked Ray’s jeans open and shoved his hands inside his boxers, ducking his head to suck marks against Ray’s throat. The vibration of his moan made Brad’s lips tingle, and he felt Ray bury his fingers in the top of his short hair. The sensation sent a shower of sparks down his neck._

Brad traced idle fingertips over one of the bruises Ray had left on his shoulder and tried to find the right words for the situation. When he couldn’t get the memory of Ray’s mouth slipping down his chest out of his head, he gave up and levered himself to his feet.

Ray was still motionless on the other side of the mattress, and it seemed like he got even more tense. Brad bit his lip and hovered before he committed to a decision.

“I’ll make breakfast,” he said softly, padding around the bed and past Ray to go out to the kitchen. It was probably the least he could do.       

 

Ray stared after Brad’s retreating back, speechless.

Of course Brad would reach for his mask after a tipsy hook-up, but Ray was still taken aback.

After everything, and not just last night, but _everything_ they’d ever been through, he’d thought he’d somehow made it past that polite bullshit façade Brad fell back on around everyone else. But here he was, treated to some classic Iceman behavior.

This was what he got for wanting something unattainable for so long, and he thought back to the moment when that balance had changed.

_The alcohol was just a pleasant haze, easily navigated by higher functions, but the second they were through the door Brad pushed him gently against the wall and kissed the breath out of his lungs. It only took Ray a moment to clutch at Brad’s shirt and push himself up into the kiss._

Ray heard the sound of cupboards closing and the click of dishes from the kitchen, and he tried to decide if he could afford to stay for breakfast.

Would they talk? What would they talk about? Brad didn’t seem eager to do it, but he was still playing the gentleman, pulling a perfect Brad Colbert by making breakfast for his one-night stand. It was possible it could turn into more than one night. From what Ray remembered, it had been good, just the way he’d expected it to be.

He had a trail of hickeys down his neck and he remembered how attentive and thorough Brad had been, like Ray’s body had been a recon mission. And Brad wasn’t one of the best recon Marines in the game for no reason.

Ray found his hoodie on the floor and pulled out his phone to avoid thinking any more about that.

 

Brad was just flipping the eggs over when Ray stumbled out of his bedroom. His hair was a disaster and he looked like a mess in just his boxers and an open hoodie showing off the bruises littered all over his torso.

“We have a problem,” he said flatly, rubbing at his hair, and Brad tried not to feel disappointed. He kept his face blank at least and focused on sliding the eggs onto plates. The toaster oven was still ticking and he redirected his attention to laying out the bacon in the egg pan.

“What’s that?” he asked as Ray didn’t say anything. When he turned his head, he saw a pained expression on Ray’s face as he looked at the eggs.

“I can’t stay for breakfast. There’s a storm starting and I have to try to get home while I can. The forecast says seven inches.” His voice was a little strained, but Brad focused on his face anyway. A year and a half apart hardly mattered. Brad had always been able to read it.

It was earnest and open, not that Brad thought he’d be lying, and he turned toward the windows. And he started. What he’d taken for an overcast sky was actually nearly a wall of snowfall, so thick and fast that he could barely make out the buildings across the street.

“There’s no way you’re going out there,” Brad said immediately.

Ray rolled his eyes. “Please, Colbert. This is nothing. You may not be used to it, but I lived in Missouri for 18 years remember?”

Brad looked skeptically at the pile of snow on the windowsill and pulled his phone out to check the forecast for himself. The map was solid blue and pink and while it wasn’t too cold yet, the temperature was going to plummet below zero later.

“There’s a blizzard warning, Ray, and visibility is shit. You can’t go out there.” He didn’t even have warm clothes beyond a coat and boots.

Ray’s face turned complicated then. He looked like he wanted to argue and like he wanted to bolt for the door at the same time. His expression went still and remote when his eyes flicked over breakfast and Brad, and a crease appeared between his eyebrows.

 

“What are you going to do, barricade the doors?” Ray demanded. He’d seen Brad freeze and take stock of the bruises down his chest when he’d come into the room. He was beginning to feel desperate and uncomfortable and he’d started fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

“If that’s what it takes to keep you from being a total dumbass,” Brad replied, firm. He went back to his bacon like the discussion was over, and Ray wasn’t even surprised. If he was anything Brad was a stubborn asshole. “Sit down, Ray. You’re stuck here until the snow lets up.” His voice carried a hint of resignation.

But God, why did he have to fight him on this? Humiliation wasn’t Brad’s thing. He wasn’t cruel either.

Part of Ray clung to the idea that Brad wanted him to be safe. But of course he did. As much as he tried to hide or downplay it, Brad cared about people. He would grin and bear the awkwardness if it kept Ray from driving into a blizzard.

And he was right. Driving home in this was a bad idea.

He sat down at the table while Brad dished up breakfast, and tried to ignore the next memory that came back.

_Brad’s lips ran down his jaw and Ray was too distracted to notice where his hands were going until his back bumped into a hard surface and, in the next moment, he was off the ground and sitting on the table with Brad standing between his legs, palms spread wide on Ray’s thighs._

_He laughed, tipping his head back to let the fizzy, overwhelming rush of feelings out of his chest. His own hands tightened on Brad’s waistband to tug him closer. Brad leaned away with his upper body and his eyes were shining as he beamed. Ray had never seen him look so happy when he wasn’t self-satisfied._

When Brad came with the eggs, his expression was totally closed off.

 

Ray had gone quiet as he stabbed at his eggs and he refused to look up from the plate. Brad minded, but not enough to break the silence.

Instead, he tried to figure out how to proceed now that Ray was definitely staying. Against his will.

Brad couldn’t really blame him, he wasn’t known for being good company. And Ray probably didn’t want to deal with him any more than he had to. Who did?

Last night had been great, but Brad wasn’t going to lie to himself and think Ray might want anything more than that.

He looked around and fought a grimace.

The last time they’d been in this room, they’d made out against the table, slowing down the fevered pace until it had almost ended here, just lips and tongue and sharing breath as the intensity settled into a steady blaze.

Then Ray had gotten Brad’s jeans open and his fingers had stroked slowly along the skin of Brad’s bare hip until the fire was up and roaring again. So much so that Brad had practically pulled him off the table and to the bedroom where Ray almost tripped diving into Brad’s bed.

Whenever he looked at his feelings for this white trash loudmouth, Brad always questioned what the fuck he was doing. Before Iraq, all the way back in Afghanistan, Brad had realized how brilliant Ray was. On the face, but also for letting everyone else think he was just a dumb hick in order to be left alone.

He’d liked Ray, come to think of him as a friend, and then sometime in Iraq — early on in the storm of bullshit — it got deeper than that. Instead of quietly appreciating or ignoring Ray’s sleep-deprived rants, Brad had come to rely on them.

As the invasion got grimmer and Brad realized they were being wasted and fucking up right and left, Ray became more and more of a light. By the time they made it to Baghdad and he’d run out of stimulants, his silence had become torture.

And now it was a different kind of torture with the memory of Ray’s choked off gasps and breathless teasing-turned-to-pleading echoing through Brad’s head. He wasn’t sure how he’d get through a whole day of this awful, awkward silence, but he could make it as painless as possible by compartmentalizing his own feelings and not drawing it out any more.

Ray deserved that from him.

So as soon as their plates were clear, he took them back to the sink and felt the weight of Ray’s eyes on him as he went.   

 

When Brad ran away from him _again_ , Ray felt his ears heat up and his stomach clench uncomfortably.

He glanced toward the windows to see it was still snowing sideways.

Something about all of it made him push to his feet and follow. He didn’t miss the way Brad’s shoulders tensed or how he stilled his body so every movement was minute and hard to see.

“Look, Brad —”

“I know you don’t want to be here, but I can’t let you go out into the weather. You can leave as soon as it’s safe.” His voice was remote and Ray felt another rush of heat sweep through him. He clenched his jaw and his hands.

“What the fuck, Brad?” he demanded. Something in his voice must have broken through because Brad actually turned around and met his eyes for the first time that morning. “Stop acting like you’re being a dick for my sake, it’s not like you want me to still be here, either. I know what you’re doing.”

Brad’s eyes narrowed, and oh, Ray hadn’t seen that look, that calm fury, in a long time. “Is that so?”

But Ray could match him there.

“You’re pushing me away the way you do to everyone. You made a mistake last night and now you’re trying to fix your regret by ignoring it. And fine, regret last night, but stop treating me like I’m some hooker you picked up,” Ray spat. “I thought we were friends, at least.”

His blood was roaring in his ears and he glared at Brad’s smooth, impassive face. Sure, the idea that Brad regretted it hurt a little, but this distance killed. Ray was under no illusions that Brad was going to get down on one knee, but he’d seemed into what they’d done last night.

“And quit acting like it’s the end of the fucking world for you to have to see your one-night stand’s face the morning after. It was a tipsy hook-up, surely you’ve done this enough that this isn’t the first time. I thought you were the Iceman. Shouldn’t you be immune to this stuff?”

Brad’s eyes flashed, but his face didn’t change beyond getting tighter. Good.

“Until this moment you haven’t been your usual fount of conversation, either,” Brad said, voice low. “You’re the one acting like I’m holding you hostage for not letting you freeze to death trying to get your car out.”

“Oh, did a miss the part where you were being a gracious, welcoming host?”

“I made you breakfast, didn’t I?”

“Right, the height of civility. Throwing a plate of eggs in front of me without meeting my eye.”

Brad snorted. “Maybe I missed the part where you were making any kind of effort. You’ve been walking around like you’re being held at gunpoint.”

“Believe me, I’d rather do anything than deal with this, too, but mother nature’s pulling a hissy fit so you have to put up with me for a few more hours at least.”

“Where the hell are you going?” Brad asked when Ray turned and stalked away.

“To put my clothes on. I assume, with this five-star experience that I can do that?” Ray shot back without turning around. “And you’re damn right I’m leaving as soon as the snow lets up. You can have your personal space back and forget all about this.”

 

The bedroom door slammed shut and Brad stared at it, breathing hard and replaying Ray’s words. Some, like “mistake,” “regret,” and “forget” stood out, but he was particularly stuck on the implication that all of this was something Brad did regularly. And that it didn’t matter to him.

The twisted look on Ray’s face, and the heat in his cheeks were seared into Brad’s memory, too.

He heard his heartbeat in his ears and turned back toward the sink, pushing the fight from his mind. Ray was convinced he didn’t care, just like everyone else. Experience told him he couldn’t change that now.

Brad hadn’t gotten that impression last night, holding Ray close when they’d both finished and cleaned up. Ray had been smiling and loose, looking drunker than he had all night as he hooked one arm around Brad’s neck and curled the other between their chests.

Everything had been nice until they’d woken up the morning after.

For the first time in over a year, they’d been in the same city. Dinner to catch up had led to drinks that felt like old times, and they’d noticed the old spark and connection had barely faded.  

Brad braced his hands on both sides of the sink and stared into the dishwater.

He cared about Ray. Taking him home had always been about more than sex. He didn’t want to push him away, it was just easier when Ray clearly didn’t want anything more to do with him, and apparently thought Brad slept with anyone he could get into bed.  

That thought stoked the fire again. For someone who claimed to be a close friend — and who Brad had considered a close friend — it was outrageous that he believed Brad had a revolving door to his bedroom. Brad told his Marines that his solution to blue balls was a prostitute, but anyone who actually knew him knew he spent his free time with his bike, his tech or his surfboard.

When he did pick someone up at a bar, it was casual, but it wasn’t just a matter of closing his eyes and pointing. And he’d never done it with someone he already knew. Never would. Because then it couldn’t be casual. He was paying the price for that now.

He was saved from having to decide what to do with those roiling feelings by the bedroom door opening. Ray was dressed and he looked like he’d cooled down, but he was still guarded and not quite looking at Brad. It almost made him decide not to bring it up.

“Ray, we need to talk.”

Ray’s expression fell apart and his shoulders slumped forward while he threw his head back toward the ceiling. His sigh was heavy enough to shake the ground. “About what, homes? Why can’t we just move on, forget it ever happened? Why the fuck do we need to talk about it?”   

“Because I have an issue with what you think happened last night,” Brad said. He watched Ray’s thoughts stutter to a stop, and the flush of red that overtook his face.

“We both know what happened last night,” Ray said, and he sounded pained. “We got drunk, we had sex. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Except the part where you think I’m the kind of asshole who doesn’t give a shit about any of it,” Brad growled.

“Oh, please Brad,” Ray scoffed. “I’m supposed to think this morning has been you giving a shit? You don’t do long-term. And I’m well aware. You don’t have to let me down easy.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Brad retorted. He didn’t let himself dwell on the implication that Ray hadn’t even considered more. “Do you really think I’d kick you out if there wasn’t a blizzard outside? You, of all people, should know better than that.”

“Right, you tell me all your deep, dark secrets. I forgot about that,” Ray snapped. “You close everyone out, maybe you let me in deeper, but that’s not the same as actual openness, Brad.”

“Like you’ve been open with me? You’re accusing me of trying to avoid you, but you’re practically tearing down the door trying to run away.” Brad took a deep breath because he felt the rage building in his chest, and it was mixing with other, more bruise-like feelings, which wasn’t good for anyone. His vision flickered before he said his next sentence, aware that it was going to hurt.

“I’m not the one talking about regret and forgetting about everything,” Brad said. “And I’m not the only party in this. If you were so convinced it was a bad idea, why did you agree? Jesus, you’re the one who insisted on coming back here. You kissed me first.”

It felt like the air rushed out of the room, all of the oxygen that had been fueling the fire.  

 

Brad stalked closer until they were in a bubble that only had the two of them in it. Ray barely paid attention, he was too focused on his racing heart and the way he wasn’t quite able to inhale all the way.

He hadn’t thought Brad would bring that up.

“You kissed me back,” he replied, but it lacked the heat from earlier. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was arguing for. He’d lost track of the argument the second he’d been alone in Brad’s bedroom.

And now Brad’s face softened, too.

He hadn’t missed the scraps of feeling Brad had admitted to, but it hadn’t seemed like the important part of what Brad was accusing him of. He gave a shit, and he resented that Ray thought he didn’t. That was interesting, but Brad was talking again before Ray got further in thinking about it.

“I did,” he said solemnly. “And I knew what I was doing, and I don’t regret it.” There was a solid, steady look in his eyes that sent shivers down Ray’s spine. He was telling the truth, and he was challenging Ray to do the same.

And if Ray was being honest, he didn’t regret it either.

He studied Brad’s face, and found the unmistakable hints that he was hurt, the very tight-but-still way he held his jaw and his shoulders, the way his face was carefully, forcefully blank. He was trying to hide it, but it was there.

More than that though, his eyes were intent and earnest. And he was clearly on the verge of sympathy-frowning. The way his expression always looked when Ray was upset and he wanted to fix it.

Ray sighed and ran his hand through his hair as he ducked his head.

“I’m sorry,” Ray said, finally. Then he sighed, “Jesus Christ you’re a mess.”

Brad looked taken aback, and like he was going to speak. But Ray didn’t want him to ruin it yet, so he held up a hand and stepped back to put his thoughts in order.

“Look, so am I. It’s just, you’ve made not giving a shit about people your thing. You care about the computers and the job and that your fellow Marines are alive,” Ray said, and he intended to continue but he caught the way Brad’s whole body closed down first, and he didn’t have a chance before:  

“Fuck you, Ray. You _know_ me better than that.”

“Brad—”

“No. Listen.” His voice was thunderous, and shifting closer to Gunnery Sergeant Tone.

“ _You_ listen!” Ray yelled. “Brad, that’s what you fucking do. You make it seem like you don’t care because you have issues with people getting close. I know that. And even though I’ve always been an exception, I forget. And then this morning,” Ray pushed a hand through his hair violently.

“This morning, I was planning to leave before we had to address it. I didn’t think you’d _want_ to address it, I didn’t want to get my hopes up. And then you barely looked at me, and you left the bedroom as soon as you could. You’ve spent all morning barely looking at me, avoiding conversation, and doing that closed-off thing you do when you’re uncomfortable or upset.” He sighed again, and dropped his voice, and let himself feel his exhaustion. “Brad, I made an assumption. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”   

Brad watched him quietly, clearly listening.

“And I did it, too. It’s not like I tried to make eye contact or conversation. But it hurt, okay? I…I don’t regret last night either, and you reacting the way you did pissed me off.”

Brad’s face hadn’t changed, but his eyes were more focused. Ray was being assessed like a battlefield, and he’d consider being annoyed if he didn’t love it when Brad looked like that. Besides, it was nice being the center of that level of attention.

Briefly, he wondered if he’d get an equal explanation. When Brad had ideas to convey or points to make, he was fond of laying it all out, methodically.

“Okay,” Brad said softly, his eyes flicked closed and his chest moved with a deep breath. Ray returned the favor and waited for him to go on.

“This morning was awkward and you were clearly uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to make it worse,” Brad said calmly. “So I kept my hands to myself.” Then he drew in a big breath, and the cool look in his eyes melted a little, opening up to give a view of his softer interior.

“But that’s not it. You’re the one person who doesn’t think I don’t care about people. I thought I could always count on that, and then you accused me of fucking anyone who catches my eye, whenever I’m bored, or lonely or whatever.” Brad broke off then and his next few breaths were heavy.

No matter how much he wanted to interject, to correct that implication, Ray held back. He’d never seen Brad this close to losing his whole cool.

“And you’re supposed to be the one who knows me better than that,” Brad said again. He let go of some tension hiding in his shoulders, and paused for a long moment. “That’s not why I had sex with you.”

Ray’s breath caught in his chest, crowding out the creeping guilt. “Why?”

Brad didn’t have to answer, the look on his face said it all.

 

Ray wasn’t speaking and Brad fucking hated himself. Why the fuck had he thought to open that door?

For a fraction of a second, he scrambled to figure out what to say next.

But Ray beat him to the punch.

“Homes…” he trailed off there. His eyes were wide, and Brad had never seen that much doubt in them. Not even in Iraq. Any ideas he might have had about this not mattering to Ray fled into the blizzard.

“So, you understand why I was pissed,” Brad said, for lack of a better idea. Might as well finish the point he was trying to make before he’d decided to derail the conversation.

Ray nodded and he still looked like he was trying to wrap his head around something. Then he shook it and raked messy fingers through his hair.

“Okay.” He threw one hand out in front of him like he was setting the word there. “Jesus this is ridiculous. Are you trying to tell me — shit, look, that’s not why I had sex with you either. I’ve always wanted to have sex with you. And,” the tops of his cheeks went pink, “kiss you and just generally be with you.”

The blush crept up his neck and touched his ears, and he groaned. “Fuck, I hate you.” 

But he sounded embarrassed, not upset, and Brad felt like his heart was beating double-time. His next words were shaky in his chest and brain, but solid upon delivery. “Person, in the interest of staying on the same page, are you saying that you have feelings for me?”

Brad didn’t know if he could really believe it, and he barely wanted to ask. But that was where the signs were pointing, and he was good at following those, personal feelings be damned.

“Seriously Colbert?” Ray asked. His eyebrows were almost lost in his hair and he looked outraged, but not angry exactly. More like he wanted to go on an unhinged rant but he didn’t have the right words yet.

Ray stuck to gaping for only a few seconds before he crossed the short distance between them, grabbed either side of Brad’s face and dragged him into a kiss.

It was hard and fast, and Ray didn’t waste time introducing his tongue to the situation. Almost instantly, Brad brought his hands up to grip the sides of Ray’s waist and pull him closer while he stepped forward until they were pressed against each other all along their fronts. Ray’s hands shifted so one curved around the back of Brad’s head and the other cupped his jaw.

That was when the kissing slowed and melted. Brad loosened his hands so he was holding instead of clasping, and Ray made a soft noise in the back of his throat. Now, it felt like what Brad was feeling, and he understood exactly what Ray meant.

And shit, he wanted it too.

“There,” Ray gasped when they finally stopped to breathe. “I want that, and I want it for the foreseeable future.”

Brad nodded. He knew and he agreed. But another thought flared and held him back.

“I’m not good at it,” he said, valiantly keeping his tone neutral. “You deserve better.”

“Bullshit,” Ray said. And he meant it. Brad saw it in his eyes that he didn’t believe it for a second and he wouldn’t let Brad try to persuade him. Everything about him screamed conviction. “You’re Brad Colbert, and I know what I’m getting into.”  

Brad took a shaky breath and let go of everything else that had happened that morning. Because that tone of voice, that was the understanding he’d been missing earlier, when Ray had been accusing him of not caring.

“Noted,” Brad said, and he looked at Ray and let himself feel the hope that had showed up when Ray kissed him last night. “Let’s do this.”

 

Ray actually couldn’t stop smiling. It was disgusting and ridiculous, but it was also so fucking appropriate.

The snow was still coming down, but it was simply falling now, light and dream-like as if they were in some kind of movie now and he could see across the street for the first time since he woke up.

Not that it mattered. The blizzard had resulted in feet of snow and Ray had no hope of probably finding his car for another twenty-four hours, nonetheless driving it anywhere.

But it was okay, being trapped at Brad’s apartment. They’d hashed out the details of what they wanted — exclusive monogamy — what they’d call it — dating/being in a relationship — and tied up any other loose ends, like how long they’d both wanted this and the web of reasons for how the morning had played out.

And he was sore again and had even more hickeys now.

“You’re going to be okay staying here for another day or two?” Brad asked from the other end of the couch as the credits started rolling on the TV.

Ray stretched his arms up over his head and nodded. “I’m getting used to having food cooked for me, I might stick around even longer than it takes to get out of my parking spot.”

Brad got a dumb look on his face at that, and Ray was thrilled to see that he was just as sappy as he’d always expected. It definitely helped that Ray felt the same way about the idea of sticking around. In Brad’s apartment and in his life.

“You better hope we don’t run out of food,” Brad said, getting up to grab one of the many remotes for his ridiculous entertainment center set-up.

“I have faith in your ability to figure something out,” Ray replied. “It’s not like near-starvation is even the worst thing we’ve faced together.”

And then they were both smiling and Brad returned to the couch, dropping a kiss to the top of Ray’s head before he settled down, closer this time. Ray put an arm around him and leaned in as the next movie started.


End file.
